


Close Corridors

by whatthedruidscallme



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Merthur - Freeform, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:29:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthedruidscallme/pseuds/whatthedruidscallme
Summary: In quiet evening hallways, behind the muted snap and pop of lit torches, there is an alcove with an 'occupied' sign hanging off of it.Day 1
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 116
Collections: Merthur Week 2020





	Close Corridors

“Arthur--they’re going to notice you’re gone-- _ Arthur _ ,” Merlin hisses as he stumbles forward. Arthur’s hand is warm and clasped around Merlin’s, fingers tangled together, warm and sticky with the mead Merlin had spilled only a few moments ago. 

“No they won’t,” Arthur says from in front of him, waving a dismissive hand as he tugs Merlin forward into the corridor. “Father’s in his cups and Morgana can’t take her eyes off of Gwen long enough to notice anyone else anyway, we’re fine. Relax, darling.” 

“Don’t call me--” 

_ “Darling,” _ Arthur murmurs, ducking to mouth at the corner of Merlin’s jaw, hands skimming up and down Merlin’s torso, plucking lightly at laces. “You smell like my soap.” 

“Wonder why,” Merlin says, tilting his head back so Arthur skims his teeth over the pulse in Merlin’s neck. “I-- _ ah _ , I’ve got nothing to explain away the bruise you’re about to make, love, be careful--if you hadn’t pulled me into the bath against my will, I wouldn’t smell like you.” 

“Mm...couldn’t help it,” Arthur says, now smiling against Merlin’s temple, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s waist. “You were standing right there, all warm and sweet and happy…” 

“And dressed…” 

“Well, not for long.” 

“No, not after you got to me,” Merlin says, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck. He draws in a sharp breath as Arthur’s teeth graze his earlobe. “Arthur…someone will see us…” 

“Come here then,” Arthur breathes against his skin, and then slips his finger into the belt looped at Merlin’s waist and pulls him forward into a dark little alcove off of the hall. Torches crackle and pop in the smoky hall, splitting a bright stripe of light across Arthur’s face, illuminating one brilliant blue eye. As soon as Merlin’s back is pressed against the wall, ridges of cold stone nudging into his spine, Arthur is right there again, pressed together chest to knee, kissing him in the torturous, luxuriating way he does when they have nothing but time. Cold fingertips press against the silky skin of Merlin’s stomach, and he jumps. 

Arthur laughs, a soft huff against Merlin’s ear. “Sorry.” 

“Mm...closer,” Merlin murmurs, tugging at Arthur, curling hands at his shoulder blades, lifting one leg to graze against Arthur’s thigh. A soft groan escapes Arthur’s lips and he kisses Merlin harder, pushing greedily against him, his fingers tangled in Merlin’s hair to keep them steady against each other, and Merlin pushes back with equal, longing vehemence. 

Arthur’s hand disappears from Merlin’s scalp and traces down his shoulder to the small of his back. Merlin shudders as Arthur’s hand skims the seat of his pants and then grips there, heaving him upward into his arms, startling a yelp out of Merlin as he curls his legs around Arthur’s waist and grips his hair. Arthur grins into the soft, bruised hollow of Merlin’s throat. 

“Warn me next time,” Merlin says breathlessly, and then they’re kissing again, amorous and slow, gratified and rejoicing in the taste, their hot, mingled breath, the scent of spiced mead and sugary glaze from the feast they stole out of together.

Merlin smiles involuntarily as Arthur’s finger hooks around the first lace, skimming against Merlin’s breastbone, pulling insistently. Merlin arches back almost against his will, and the hand at the small of his back presses him close to Arthur again. 

“We’re not in your chambers now, my lord,” Merlin whispers. “We’re in a very public corridor.” 

“A very public, very empty corridor,” Arthur murmurs back, hand now sliding up Merlin’s tunic, up his stomach and over his heaving chest. Merlin bites back a moan threatening to escape. 

“Quit it, Arthur, someone’s going to see us, and I don’t fancy being-- _ ah _ \--being found out.”

“Don’t lie,” Arthur breathes. “You’d love to be found.” Merlin’s stomach jumps at the unexpected spark of adrenaline from his words. “To have someone walk in on us, to have them know that you have the crown prince wrapped around your little finger--”

“Do I?” Merlin asks archly as he garners another kiss, wriggling in Arthur’s arms. 

“You know you do,” Arthur says wryly as he gives Merlin what he wants, the gentle noise of breath and kissing permeating the little alcove. “The entire castle already knows you’re dissentious and disorderly and utterly, utterly impossible to please…”

“Mm...I’m pleased right now.” 

“So am I,” Arthur says, a brief, quiet smile crossing his face, the kind that Merlin knows only really comes out with him. 

“Prince Arthur?” echoes through the hall, splitting the silence like the shot of a crossbow, and Merlin freezes. It’s been scarcely an entire second before he scrambles to the ground and against the other side of the alcove as though he’s been scalded. Arthur merely looks mildly amused, and reaches out to drag Merlin back to him by his shirt. He pulls Merlin snug against him, hand pressed around his waist, as Merlin shoves at him and threatens a slew of increasingly horrible tortures under his breath. 

“Yes?” Arthur calls out, his voice ringing clear through the hall, and Merlin groans and closes his eyes for a brief moment. 

Hesitant footsteps echo through the hall. Merlin pushes back one more time, uselessly, but Arthur only secures him closer. 

“Er--sire?” Benjamin, a young servant who had been serving as Uther’s cupbearer at the feast appears around the corner. His eyes flicker from Arthur to Merlin, who’s struggling against the impulse to cover his face or duck out of Arthur’s grip and sink back into the corner of the alcove and never come out. 

“What is it, Benjamin?” Arthur asks courteously. Merlin grits his teeth. 

“The king is looking for you.” Benjamin’s eyes haven’t left Merlin’s; there’s a badly hidden grin beginning to curl up the corners of his mouth. 

“You can tell my father I’m busy and will come to see him later.” 

“Forgive me, sire, he said it was urgent.”

Arthur sighs. “Of course.” He turns to Merlin and kisses him briefly, ignoring the squawk of protest Merlin makes. “Go to our room, love, I’ll be there in a moment.” 

“What-- _ our _ room?” Merlin sputters, and Arthur grins at him, kissing him  _ again _ on the cheek before leaving. Benjamin waits for Arthur to take the lead, and once his back is turned, mouths, ‘ _ the prince?’ _ at Merlin, who glares back before they vanish. Their steps grow distant, and Merlin groans and sinks to the ground with his head in his hands.

-

Merlin paces around Arthur’s room-- _ Arthur’s _ , not his, not theirs, Arthur’s--looking for something to fix. That’s his job, to fix things. To clean. To polish mail and sharpen swords and scrub floors and occasionally fix Arthur’s speeches.

Merlin keeps pacing. 

He’s about to throw caution to the wind and march downstairs to the hall where the feast is still in full swing when the door creaks open, and Merlin whips around. 

“Still alive?” Arthur asks, shutting the door behind him. 

“You. I am very, very angry at you.” 

“C’mon,” Arthur says easily, grinning. “Who’s Benjamin going to tell?” 

“Who’s Benjamin going to tell?” Merlin repeats incredulously. “Half the castle probably already knows. I promise you he went straight to the servants’ hall and told every single person working--who is everyone, by the way, that’s how many people it takes to get up one of these ridiculous feasts your father insists on putting on--that he just caught us together in a darkened corridor.” 

“Sounds luridly indecent.” Arthur shrugs off his tunic. 

“Stop that,” Merlin snaps. “I’m going to be the talk of the servants’ hall because of you and your--appetite.” 

Arthur laughs. “Appetite? Come here, Merlin.”

“Absolutely not,” Merlin says, backing away. “You have done enough damage tonight, I don’t need to go downstairs with nine more bruises on my neck to explain.” 

“Then I’ll put them in a more discreet place on your person,” Arthur says, coming closer. 

“Mm...you don’t know what discreet means,” Merlin says, pressing the palms of his hands against Arthur’s chest as Arthur’s arms snake around his waist. 

“Do so,” Arthur murmurs. He presses a soft kiss to Merlin’s temple. “It means to be quiet...and careful...and to hide…” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“I am. But you love me.” 

“Unfortunately, I seem to be besotted,” Merlin sighs, and Arthur smiles against his mouth.


End file.
